The Stripper Who Was Embarrassed to Admit She’s a Sex Worker When being a lazy, skill-less whore becomes all you are...

Having spent over a year talking to a career professional sex worker, I wanted to share some insights I learned. She’s a bit embarrassed about her chosen profession, so we’ll just call her Beatrice.

I never understood why Beatrice was so ashamed of her profession. I’ve met plenty of sex workers who love what they do and wear it proudly. But Beatrice was plenty ashamed of her sex work.

Beatrice fell into sex work not because she loved sex, but because she had no other discernible job skills. You see, Beatrice hit her 40s with nothing. She had no real estate nor property, no assets, no education, no job experience – nothing.

Instead, Beatrice filled her life with delusions. She worked at a sex club near the Chicago airport and would talk to all the pilots that came through. Soon, she was pretending she herself was a pilot, explaining that her trailer park dad was a pilot to cover up her lie. But lying to everyone and saying she was a pilot never actually got Beatrice any air time.

Beatrice would watch courtroom TV shows and pretend she was a lawyer, or use “bartender” as an easy way to explain why she’s so in-the-know about “industry” people. But Beatrice couldn’t make a drink to save her life, and I’ve seen two judges laugh at her completely hollow bullshit tales.

These surface-level lies were all Beatrice had to comfort her, but they provided little comfort.

And that’s why grinding naked on men’s laps for a living suited Beatrice just fine…because if anyone looked any deeper than the surface, they would only see emptiness.

Beatrice is a complete burden on everyone who ever attempted to help her. Her family doesn’t trust her, and they cut her off from any money. Every man who ever tried to love her failed once he saw the monster within her. I know this because I was one of these men.

I don’t hate Beatrice for her actions. I know they’re rooted in cowardice. She’s afraid when people see who she really is that they’ll reject her. And she’s not wrong.

No matter how hard she fights to hide in her delusions, Beatrice can’t lie to Father Time. Her once-passable looks are already fading, and her income got hit hard when her body depreciated over time.

Spending half your life as a sex worker takes an obvious toll on the body, and Beatrice’s coke addiction certainly didn’t help her age better. Her square, boxy shoulders and lumpy, pudgy body look like they’ll break down with every trip on the pole.

Unable to salvage any relationship after she’s exposed for the lying, cowardly whore that she is, Beatrice jumps from bed to bed, man to man, desperately in search of something she’ll never find.

Instead of finding solace in life accomplishments like career, family, advanced degrees, or even entrepreneurial sales or any type of artistic portfolio, Beatrice had nothing…nobody.

And so, as every night passed, Beatrice put layers of fake face on top of her fake tits to peddle her fake personality and pretend every five minutes that each passing man’s love is real.

But it’s not real – she’s nothing more than a sex object to them. She knows her entire life is transactional, dependent on the very men she grew to loathe during her long, storied career as a sex worker.

And that is why and where I left Beatrice, as I couldn’t bear to watch her life continue crumbling around her while she lay there doing nothing but waiting for a real adult to come by and have sex with her.

Whores can’t tell the difference between money, sex, and power. They have nothing in their lives to provide comfort for their imminent demise.

Whores simply drain everyone around them of their light, energy, and resources. I met Beatrice as a victim, complaining about how all the problems in her life were caused by everyone else. As I left Beatrice, I knew she would always play that victim.

The reality that she would always be an unaccomplished failure was too hard to bear, so even though she knew time would eventually reveal the truth behind her lies, Beatrice cowered in fear behind masks.

Perhaps Beatrice actually cared about me at one point, even loved me.

But the trainwreck of her pathetic, empty life couldn’t be held at bay for long, especially when the sex worker in charge of it was too scared to open her eyes while she drove it into the ground.

Cheers, Beatrice. Nobody will ever know you existed, nor will anyone weep when your lonely, pathetic lie of a life ends.


Brian Penny is a former Business Analyst and Operations Manager at Bank of America turned whistleblower, troll, and freelance writer.

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